


how i can't stand the touch of any other hands

by brookstone



Series: charles collegiate [1]
Category: Canada's Drag Race RPF, RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26908225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookstone/pseuds/brookstone
Summary: The good news is Priyanka's been offered a teaching position. The bad news is she's smitten with the dance assistant before she's even started.
Relationships: Lemon/Priyanka (Drag Race)
Series: charles collegiate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028334
Comments: 40
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo uwu
> 
> rpf is still ehhh for me but fictionalised versions of drag personas feels ok
> 
> the subjects they teach are based off of partly whatever i want but some are obvious connections like brooke and lemon with dance!! pri teaches english because 1. english teachers are always the greatest and 2. her "talking about spongebob squarepants" line put the dumb idea in my head that she did serious analysis of spongebob on live tv, which has english teacher energy <3
> 
> if you think something's a reference to drag race it probably is i'm very uncreative!
> 
> also i'm british so if i mess up canada stuff that's why. Fs in chat
> 
> feedback welcome! hope you enjoy x
> 
> (title's from girl scout cookies by mom jeans)

Priyanka never gets used to the taste of coffee. She drinks it every morning, yet every morning with every sip swallowed she winces and sighs afterwards. It's not that it's bitter (Priyanka likes bitter) or too hot or too cold or even that she's actually a tea person; coffee just never learned how to woo Priyanka's tongue, or really do so much as shake hands.

She drinks it anyway.

That's a trend in Priyanka's life — if something does what it's supposed to, she resigns herself to it. Tutoring pays her bills, her meals keep her alive, her coffee wakes her up. It's safe and routine, it satisfies her family, and it calms the nerves that threaten to smother her whenever she slows down for even a moment.

Priyanka isn't a very happy person, it turns out. A stale social life, a stale _any_ life, really, and being trapped in the gig economy (no matter the close-knit clientele of opulent parents she’s won over) at twenty-eight does that to a girl.

And then, one beautiful, wet, grey, amazing Monday morning, she gets a phone call.

“Hi, is this Priyanka?” they say.

“Hi! Yes, yeah, I’m Priyanka, who is this?” she blurts back, and reaches for the remote to turn the television volume down.

“I’m Brooke Hytes, I work at the Charles Collegiate Institute, if you know it.”

Priyanka’s heart jumps into her throat. “Yeah,” is all she can get out. She turns the TV off completely.

“This isn’t orthodox by any means,” Brooke begins. “But Michelle — _Miss Visage_ — specifically asked for you. She said you’re the best tutor she’s ever hired, and an English teacher here leaves in maybe a month, so… You get ‘interview priority,’ I think were her words. First dibs, basically. She said it wasn’t special treatment either, but she’s infamously difficult to impress so I’d jump on the chance if I were you.”

Priyanka just nods.

“Hello?” Brooke says, after a few moments.

“Y– yeah, sorry, hi, sure, yes, what, when, what do I do?” she gets out, mouth running faster than her brain.

Brooke laughs a little in kind amusement. “Email me your stuff over — resumé, preferably — and come in, uh, Thursday morning, I think would be good.”

“Sure,” Priyanka replies. “Am I allowed more details?”

“Tell you what,” Brooke starts. The line goes quiet for a second, and then Priyanka can hear chatter in the background. “Okay, I have to go — some kid’s done something stupid with butterflies, apparently — but my contact info’s on the school’s website and I’ll get back to you as soon as, all right?”

“Uh, yeah, sure! Thank you.”

“Talk soon! Bye now.”

The phone clicks abruptly.

Priyanka’s completely still, staring at her dumbfounded reflection in the unlit TV screen.

“Huh.”

* * *

She takes a taxi to the interview. Half of her insists it's for professionalism — she can't risk a sudden gust of wind messing her hair up, a rainstorm drenching her, her shoe scuffing, or something small like walking too slow or getting lost (as it is a new route, after all) delaying her — but the other half of her is bouncing with joy and excitement and premature celebration, proudly declaring to the world that this is the start of something brilliant for Priyanka and she's on top of the world at this very moment for now and for forever.

She arrives early.

_Fuck._

Priyanka pays her fare, and steps out of the car. She flounders as it drives away, unsure if she should loiter outside the school ( _gr_ _eat look, Pri_ ) and make it in for seven thirty on the dot or just go in and look eager and desperate and—

A "hey!" breaks the panic.

Priyanka whips around. She stares at the woman for far too long, squinting whilst her brain works overtime to recognise the voice or work out why she's being shouted at. Or both, ideally.

"I'm Brooke!" _Oh._ "From the phone?" _Yeah._ "And the emails." _Of course._

"Hi!" Priyanka exclaims back. "Sorry I'm early!" She begins to walk toward Brooke, beaming a charming smile, and taking a good look at the main building on her way over.

"No, hey, it totally doesn't matter," Brooke says. "I was just heading to the sports building to talk about the dance auditions, you should come! See more of the school."

Priyanka checks her watch. Seven oh four. "Will I be late if I go?"

Brooke laughs. "Not at all. Come on."

Priyanka nods and follows Brooke. The dance rooms are, thankfully, on the ground floor of the building, so Priyanka doesn't have to worry about a dastardly set of stairs that could disrupt her meticulous image.

Brooke comes to a stop and knocks fancifully on a door marked with an '11.'

(Priyanka checks her watch. Seven oh eight. She needs to leave here with at least four minutes to spare. _Okay. Keep an eye on it, Pri._ )

"Lemon?" Brooke calls.

" _Yes_ , Brooke Lynn?" a woman (Lemon, presumably) shouts back. She sounds nowhere near as nice as Brooke, Priyanka notes.

"We have company," Brooke says. "Kindly leave my office."

"It's hardly an office, bitch," she replies playfully. Brooke and Priyanka hear a menagerie of vague shuffles, and soon the door swings open. The woman, even shorter than Priyanka (who’s notably shorter than Brooke), and younger too, somehow manages to be bold enough to look Brooke right in the eyes and say, "You made Jan and me renovate the storage closet for your own ego, remember?" She then turns, with a smile far more charming and bright and _good_ than Priyanka's professional smile, and sticks her hand out. "I'm Lemon, babe. You?"

Priyanka takes her hand and shakes it cautiously. "Priyanka. Babe," she mirrors awkwardly.

"Ooh, pretty," Lemon says, in seeming earnest, then turns back to Brooke. Lemon's leaning ever so slightly against the door, hip to one side and arms loosely crossed, hair brilliant and gentle over her shoulders. Priyanka envies her easy confidence and grace. "What do you want, anyway?"

"Kennedy can't make Thursday," Brooke tells Lemon in a surprisingly (to Priyanka, at least) hushed tone.

"Okay? She's fab. Just cast her anyway, she was bound to ace it."

Brooke shakes her head. "Think about how that looks though."

Lemon shrugs. "Happened in my high school."

"But any dance school worth its salt wouldn't pull a move like this, Lem. It's bad for Kennedy if we do it and it's bad for anyone else who wants to audition."

Lemon sighs a little and takes a minute. She glances over to Priyanka for the briefest of brief moments, then to Brooke, then back to Priyanka but now with a steady, firm gaze. "What do you think, stranger?"

"Hold another lot of auditions, probably,” Priyanka offers.

Lemon sighs again. "Okay, you heard her, Brooke. Work out when Kennedy's available and I'll set up a second proper audition. I'm allowed office time for a week though, the vibe is terrible in the staff room and it messes me up. Yeah?"

"Deal," Brooke agrees, and quickly makes a note in her phone. "Oh, by the way,” she adds, and looks at Priyanka. “Priyanka's interviewing for the English spot."

Lemon smiles, and the look she gives Priyanka could melt _diamonds._ “We love to see it.”

_This girl talks in internet?_

“She hasn’t got it yet, careful,” Brooke warns teasingly. Lemon just rolls her eyes.

Priyanka checks her watch again.

“Wanna leave me already, huh?” Lemon jokes.

Priyanka trips over her words. Rather, incoherent sounds in an attempt to form words.

“She wants to make a good impression,” Brooke explains.

“I’m not normally this neurotic,” Priyanka adds after a few beats. “Promise. Nerves just make me antsy. Which I think is normal, really.” _Shut **up** , Priyanka. _

“Totally,” Lemon says with a little nod. Priyanka can’t tell if she’s being sincere or mocking her. She thinks it’s sincere. Brooke doesn’t chide her the way she did before, so Priyanka takes that as a sign that it’s sincere. She hopes. “Who’s the interview with, anyway? Not Jimbo?”

“Michelle,” Priyanka blurts out. _Fuck._ “Miss Visage. I already kinda know her, though, I tutor her kids, and Brooke said she asked for me specifically so I’m hoping it’ll go well.”

Lemon’s brow cocks and her eyes narrow slightly in surprise and doubt. “Seriously?”

Brooke hums in affirmation. “Don’t get too jealous now.”

“Michelle doesn’t even see me though,” Lemon admits. “You gotta get me in, girl.”

“I’m not even in yet myself,” Priyanka reminds her.

“You will be.”

Priyanka doesn’t know how to reply. She feels the spark of a euphemism flit around her, but she isn’t brave enough to light it. Especially with Brooke watching. And her interview minutes away. She checks her watch.

“I think I need to go now, Brooke,” Priyanka says quietly but urgently.

Brooke checks the time on her phone. “Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll walk with you, there’s a passcode thing.” She looks at Lemon. “And I’ve finished here.”

“Fuck you,” Lemon banters. “See you around, Priyanka.”

“Hopefully, yeah!” Priyanka agrees.

Brooke starts walking and Priyanka scrambles after her. She turns to look at Lemon again and Lemon gives her a little wave — Priyanka smiles, and waves back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again!
> 
> disclaimer: i'm a criminal and stole lemon's name being luisa from @MermeladaDeMariposa because i just think it's really pretty i hope that's okay <3
> 
> also. surnames are hard huh. lemon's isn't her boy surname but middle? i think? mostly so the -a sounds wouldn't clash lmao. and i wasn't sure if i should use priyanka's boy tv stage surname or her original drag surname but i went with the first one i think it works better
> 
> (u know i had to spice queens it to 'em)
> 
> ANYWAY. hope you enjoy x

Priyanka gets a call the very next morning confirming she’s got the job, and she even manages to hold back a scream until the call ends. Just about. She's due to start after the semester break, but they expect to see a lot of her before then to prepare, and by the sounds of it there's a _lot_ of preparation to do. She doesn't really mind, though — she's Priyanka, and she knows, no matter what, that she's good. Better than good. Brilliant.

Priyanka, giddy with joy and riding the crest of her new career wave, is launched into a never-ending frenzy of preparation and logistics and _paperwork_ over the next few weeks. Somehow, it seems like mere seconds to her, and she proves that if someone could win at paperwork, it'd be Priyanka.

And then, the night before she's due to start officially, she finds herself lying in bed on her phone on the school website, reminding herself of the (beautiful) girl from Brooke's office. By, essentially, drooling over her staff photo.

She dedicates her non-botanical, real human name to memory. Luisa Elliott. It's not what Priyanka would've expected, but it suits her. She smiles a little, nowhere near the floodlight smile of Lemon’s staff photo ( _wait, is that an actual tiara?_ ) but genuine and affectionate nonetheless.

Priyanka falls asleep easily and restfully.

* * *

She has, in passing and flurries, already met most of the staff she sees gathered in front of her.

"My name's Priyanka. I teach English," she states.

There's the lightest of murmurs in response, which Priyanka takes as a welcome.

"...What's my name?"

Now nothing. (In her defense, she's mostly only worked with kids before.)

"What's my name!"

"Priyanka," they mumble weakly, most of them confused and already missing the school break.

Priyanka smiles. She understands why Lemon doesn’t enjoy being in here now though. She’s sure everyone is lovely under all their grumpiness, but the atmosphere is stifling and nobody seems to want to know each other.

“Told you you’d get it, bitch,” she hears suddenly, from behind her.

Priyanka turns and moves to greet Lemon with a hug. “You did! Hi!”

Lemon awkwardly pats Priyanka’s back before they both naturally pull away. “Someone's feeling bold.”

“Was it too much?”

“No, hey, it’s just different to last time!”

“Yeah. Wait. Yeah, no, I was just beyond scared, sorry,” Priyanka explains a little meekly. “I get in my head sometimes. Well, no, my brain goes like five million miles a minute all the time and I’m normally okay with controlling it, but…”

“Michelle’s terrifying, I get it. That was all just the jitters though?”

Priyanka shrugs. “Probably. I can’t even remember the interview.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. I literally just remember you,” Priyanka says. The words linger for a moment and Priyanka’s face _burns_. “And Brooke. Of course. Brooke Lynn.”

“Who?” Lemon jokes, trying to ease Priyanka’s bubbling discomfort. “Oh, by the way, we did a second audition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it went well.” Lemon pauses and Priyanka can feel the same thing Lemon is inevitably feeling — the stillness in the room that makes conversation feel like a death wish. “Come on.” They walk to the door and Lemon leads. Soon they find themselves accompanied by nothing but the echo of their own footsteps. And, then, “How athletic are you?”

Priyanka gives Lemon a quizzical look. “Why?”

“There’s this tree, right?” Lemon begins, and leans closer to Priyanka to prevent spilling her illicit secret further than she intended. “And there’s this window on the first floor of the gym, and you can kinda… Climb the tree to the roof.”

Priyanka laughs. “Okay, so we’re in a trashy noughties teen movie, got it.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Lemon replies bashfully. “But seriously, how athletic are you?”

“I think I could keep up as a dancing extra in _Glee_ ,” Priyanka tells her. "But not for New Directions or anything. One of the mediocre schools."

Lemon hums in thought. “Okay, maybe not the roof for right now.”

“Wise decision.”

They keep walking regardless.

“Don’t tell me there’s another tree you haven’t mentioned,” Priyanka sighs as Lemon unlocks the gym's main door with one of the keys on her lanyard.

“Nope. I wanna see you dance.”

“No way. I’ll get all gross; not everyone gets to wear gym clothes to work, _Luisa_ ,” Priyanka teases, gesturing to her formal attire.

“Who told you my name?” Lemon asks slowly, gently, seemingly taken aback.

“Website.”

“Ah. Welcome to my fan club.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like?”

Priyanka treads very carefully with her next words. “It’s a new job. It helps to know everyone’s name.”

Lemon just nods, a little slow for Priyanka to feel like she’s satisfied with that answer, but she moves on instantly with a jog down the hall to a door with a ‘5’ on it, which she unlocks with the same key as before.

“Come on,” she says to Priyanka. “I have spare kit and there’s showers downstairs.”

Priyanka follows Lemon into the room and makes eye contact with her in the wall that’s really just a mirror (or mirror that's really just a wall?), but ultimately shakes her head.

“Please?” Lemon asks, pouting a little.

“After work?”

Lemon smiles her bright smile again. “Amazing.”

“What if I outdance you?” Priyanka teases.

“You won’t.”

“What if I do?”

“Is this a bet?”

“Do you want it to be a bet?”

“What would I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“Money and fame, mostly.”

“Seriously.”

They look at each other, patiently and coolly, for a good few breaths.

“You have to perform in the dance recital,” Lemon says eventually.

Priyanka scoffs. “ _Seriously_?”

Lemon nods smugly.

“I was expecting, I don’t know, a month’s worth of being your maid or something like that!” Priyanka exclaims.

“Is that your thing?” she teases.

“No! What? No, I just, what kinda reward is that? I was gonna ask you to get me Brooke’s office!”

“Good luck with that,” Lemon snarks. “I think only Michelle could have even a _chance_ at getting Brooke to give up her office. Wait, you don’t even work in this building — am I really that irresistible?”

“It just seemed like it would piss you off and I’d get an office, okay!” Priyanka protests. “Better than asking you to read _The Great Gatsby_ with teenagers.”

“I know what I’m doing, Priyanka,” Lemon tells her, voice low and warm. “I’m very good at lots of things.”

“Nuh-uh. Anyway, if I’m gonna dance _after_ work for you, how about you dance _before_ work for me? You’re literally in gym wear, Lemon — I’m in a pencil skirt here.”

“It looks good,” Lemon comments offhandedly. “But that would give you an advantage for our competition, dear Priyanka.”

“Or scare me so much that I concede immediately.”

“Or that.”

“Please?”

“...After work.”

“Bitch.”

“Whore.”

* * *

Priyanka's first class goes surprisingly well. She would, truthfully, prefer it be the beginning of the school year (not merely a semester) so that she could fill a few lessons with introductions and fluff and games, but she still enjoys working. And she especially enjoys getting in a groove, one of which she finds whilst explaining Venician history for Shakespearean context, surprisingly.

"So, I will set homework," she announces as the class begins to reach its end. The news is received with disappointed looks and grumbles. "Just make or write something that tells me about you. Take half an hour tops, don't think too hard. I wanna get to know you guys. Okay?" That eases the upset. Priyanka smiles. “You can go to your next lesson now.” (It’s a few minutes early but Priyanka loves to reward good behaviour, and her class were brilliantly attentive.)

The classroom eventually empties, and Priyanka flops onto her chair. It spins a little under the force, which scares her momentarily, but not enough to dampen her relief and pride and excitement from doing well.

She has a free period now though, and has no clue what to do in it.

So she opens her laptop, and begins browsing the school’s website. She finds herself on the staff page again, and her eyes linger on Lemon’s photograph, but she forces herself to try and commit the other names and faces to memory. _Wait_ , no actual fucking way.

* * *

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyanka@cci.edu)

To: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmine.p@cci.edu)

Subject: OMG

!!!!!!!!! OMG HI NO WAY HOW ARE YOUUUU SMALL WORLD I MISSED YOU!!!

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyanka.s@cci.edu)

To: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmine.b@cci.edu)

Subject: oops

wait why did it do thatttttt juice how do i take it off i don’t like it what’s your number text me instead!! i love you bitch OH also you should come over i still have spice world on vhs <3

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

Priyanka grins at the computer screen, and then looks to the corner to see how much time is left til her next lesson.

“No way was that just five minutes,” she groans and looks back to the computer. “Do you have games?” A few clicks and clacks later, Priyanka sighs. “Of course you don’t. Stupid school stuff.”

So she goes back to the staff page on the website. _Should she email everybody a ‘hello’?_ It might come off a bit strong, but, then again, Priyanka’s not one for subtlety. She looks through the faces and their subjects, and decides on just one, to a young girl with kind eyes that does some work in and with the English department (which Priyanka deems a good reason for emailing that probably won’t make her look creepy or overenthusiastic).

* * *

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyanka.suki@cci.edu)

To: [ kiaraschatzi@cci.edu ](mailto:kiaraschatzi@cci.edu)

Subject: English Department

Hi!

So you probably know that there’s a new girl in the department! That’s me, I’m Priyanka (that’s why that’s my email name duh Pri) and I’m the new English teacher! I kinda hate the language parts with phonemes and diacritics and stuff but you can’t tell anyone that. Blood oath.

You substitute for English sometimes, and you run a creative writing club, right? That’s so so cool, and I’d love to talk about it and help make the subbing easier for you or help with creative writing logistics or whatever if you needed it? (To be honest I’d also be down to join the club if teachers are allowed lol)

Hope to talk soon, and really looking forward to working with you Kiara!

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

From: [ kiaraschatzi@cci.edu ](mailto:kiarachatzi@cci.edu)

To: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: English Department

Hey :)

I think I’ve seen you around before - you’re kinda tall, dark hair, have that rucksack with the “?” patch on it right?

But yeah! I am primarily a French teacher :/ I applied with an English degree but because I’m Québécois and have teaching credentials I got offered a French position:))))) I still said yes though so not entirely complaining! And I got to make a creative writing club and run it yes!! You could totally come along, it’s on Thursday lunchtimes in E2 (you’re in E5 right?) and joining in is the whole point so don’t worry :) what do you mean about making the sub stuff easier? I already get sent the syllabus and the lesson plan :P

Looking forward to working with you too Priyanka!!

From,

Kiara S.

Languages Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

To: [ kiaraschatzi@cci.edu ](mailto:kiarachatzi@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: RE: English Department

HEY yes that’s me oh god I’m sorry it’s all been such a blur

Surely that could count as discrimination? Get that dollar girl. And yeah E5 is my room I’m there right now it’s SO QUIET in this building how do you deal

What kinda things does the club write? And do you write too?

And I was just wondering if subbing made you feel like a fish out of water and if there’s anything I could get done to make it better! If there’s nothing that’s absolutely brilliant but I’ve subbed a couple times and it’s not my favorite thing

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

A few minutes pass, and Priyanka’s scrolling the last semester’s digital newsletter when a knock on the classroom door scares the life out of her.

The door opens.

“Priyanka, right?” the woman asks, smiling.

Priyanka stares. “Yeah?” she replies dumbly.

“Kiara!” she says, gesturing to herself.

“OH!” Priyanka shouts and jumps up. She goes to hug Kiara, who goes to shake Priyanka’s hand, and they end up in an awkward dance that ends with a high-five. “Hi!”

“Not interrupting, am I?” Kiara teases, nodding at the page Priyanka had left the newsletter open on — a photo of the members of staff who were new that semester (Lemon, and two other people that Priyanka doesn’t know).

“What?” Priyanka spins to see the screen. “Oh, no, I was just reading!”

Kiara smirks, lets Priyanka stew for a moment, and then switches completely. “Anyway, creative writing?”

Priyanka tips the lid of her laptop half shut and sits on her desk. “Yes, creative writing, creative writing… What did I ask?”

“Basically, you get given a theme and you have a week to write something in that theme,” Kiara explains, sitting on a student’s desk opposite Priyanka. “It’s not about being good or writing the most, by the way, just be nice and try your best and everyone’s happy.”

Priyanka nods, focused. “What’s the theme this week?”

“Over the break I asked them to write a short story — not really a theme, I know — so we should be seeing those on Friday.”

“Did you write one?”

Kiara shakes her head after a comfortable pause.

“Why not?” Priyanka asks, quiet, after another pause.

“Too much marking to do,” Kiara replies, accompanied by a loud laugh.

Priyanka can’t help but smile. “Got it. Do you ever write?”

Kiara smiles warmly back, her laugh lingering on her face. “Sometimes. Mostly poems, in French. They aren’t great but they’re good for me, you know?”

Priyanka nods again. “Do they translate to English?”

Kiara squints and her eyes shoot upward, notably racking her brain for details on her poetry. “Some parts could. Do _you_ write?”

“I’d love to read them if you ever wanted to share,” Priyanka tells Kiara, tone gentle and kind. “And I used to write silly stories for this kid I used to teach, but that was it.”

“Maybe someday. What were they about?”

“Uh, kid shit, mostly. Like, dragons and pirates and stuff.”

“Would’ve taken you for a princess girl.”

“They weren’t for me!”

“Still, you could’ve written anything you wanted.”

“I couldn’t; try and say no to a kid that cute,” Priyanka says with joviality in her tone but something different behind her eyes. (Kiara doesn’t think it appropriate to dig around in Priyanka’s mind as a stranger, or so early in the day, so stays quiet.) “Sign me up for creative writing, though. Please!”

Priyanka’s laptop chirps. She ignores it.

“Yeah, of course. Do you want a headstart on Friday’s theme?” Kiara offers, smiling cheekily and reaching for her phone.

“Ohh, would you?” Priyanka blows kisses melodramatically. “You absolute _star_.”

Kiara laughs again, Priyanka smiles (she _seriously_ can’t help it), and Priyanka’s laptop chirps again.

“That one was me,” Kiara tells her, holding her phone up. “Join the virtual classroom and we can go from there, yes?”

“Cool! Really cool, thank you so much. Bet it’s gonna scare the crap out of the kids when another teacher joins though?”

Kiara grins and Priyanka feels a peculiar sense of pride at that fact. “Oh, for sure! It’ll be fun though, promise.”

They sit in a cheerful silence for a few more minutes, Kiara scrolling through her phone and Priyanka twiddling her thumbs and swinging her feet.

“Okay, I gotta go now,” Kiara announces, standing up and pocketing her phone. “See you at lunch or something, though — I’m normally in the home ec department with Rita, just watch out for the smell of fresh bread and that’s us! She always works with the smell of a bakery and I’m super jealous. Good luck with your next class!”

Priyanka thanks Kiara and wishes her good luck in return, shouting, “not that you’ll need it!” as the woman disappears through the door. She notes down the information about Rita and home economics in her phone, and sets an alarm so that she won’t forget during the lunch break.

She sits in her chair again and opens her laptop up, tapping her foot impatiently as it comes out of standby mode.

Two email notifications sit in the bottom of her screen. One from Kiara, as she expected, and another being a reply from Jasmine. Juice. Miss Boxx? Whatever.

* * *

From: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmineboxx@cci.edu)

To: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: OMG

No freaking way Priyanka!!!! Hi!!!!! I’m great how are you?? How long’s it been btw? Like eight years or something? And byeee of course you still have Spice World on VHS I hate you so much of course I’ll come over, just gimme a date and time <3

Also you can’t get rid of the signature dummy but my number hasn’t changed lol get your rolodex out

From,

Jasmine B.

Music Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

To: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmineboxx@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: RE: OMG

YEAH somewhere around eight years jeez. what’s wrong with spice world you whore we both know the spice girls are iconic and legendary shut your goddamn mouth

also you KNOW it’s my college diary not a rolodex juiceminda. i dont have it though seriously gimme ur number :( OHH and and and do u have any free time today i’d love to go for a walk or something lame considering we’re old people now<3

love, scary spice

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi
> 
> so as it turns out, writing a plan for the whole fic is a really good idea before writing the actual fic! who knew.
> 
> anyway stan beyoncé

The bell rings, indicating it’s the lunch break, and it takes all of Priyanka’s strength to not sigh in relief in front of her students. This class hadn’t gone anything like her first two — a girl, who she knows meant well, kept accidentally mispronouncing her name and continuously set the class into fits of giggles and fidgets and echoes of “Miss Peronka” — and she needs a moment or two to herself. So she takes a moment, in her chair that spins (but this time she isn’t surprised), and closes her eyes as the class filters out.

And then, her phone alarm screams from her jacket pocket, and Priyanka yelps, serenity disturbed. “kiara - bread room” is the note that accompanies the alarm, and it takes her a moment to remember what past-Priyanka meant ( _what the fuck is a bread room, Pri?_ ) but when she catches on she jumps into action with an award-winning smile. She smooths her blouse and skirt, checks her hair in the black of her now inactive phone screen, and begins to head for the home economics department, which she _thinks_ she visited on a hasty tour by a man she can’t quite remember ( _Jonas? Jeffrey? Jeremy?_ ). Hopefully. She’d die of embarrassment if she had to ask for directions.

Fortunately, Priyanka finds the room. Unfortunately, she can’t quite bring herself to knock on the door. The last class and the familiar feeling of being mocked had unearthed something in Priyanka’s garden of anxieties, followed by a sprawl of _what if Kiara was just being nice?_ and _they’ll only let me stay out of pity_ which has begun to spread and grow and root itself in Priyanka's brain, a stubborn weed.

And then a gardener arrives. “You’re new right?”

“Yeah! Uh. Priyanka.”

“Scarlett.”

Priyanka takes a moment, recalling the staff page. "History Scarlett?"

“The one and only. Come on, ladies first,” Scarlett says with a laugh, and holds the door open for Priyanka before following and entering the room herself. “Miss Baga, _please_ give me some good news.”

A woman looks up from the desk at the front of the room, pencil in hand and stress evident on her face. “You’re looking at me,” she deadpans.

“Tynomi said your class made coffee cake."

"We may have."

"So…" Scarlett drags out, draping herself over a workstation.

"So?" Rita cocks a brow.

"When are you sharing it?" she whines, pouting a little.

"You haven't even introduced your guest."

"Oh!" Scarlett bolts back up, and points. "Priyanka. New girl."

"I do English," Priyanka offers.

Rita nods. "Priyanka," she starts, smirking a little. "How would you like a slice of coffee cake?"

Scarlett scowls.

Priyanka looks at Scarlett, worried that accepting will offend her, but worried that rejecting the offer will offend Rita instead. _Yes? No. No? No. Yes. No._ "Okay."

"Excellent," Rita replies smugly. She places her pencil down and moves to stand up. Priyanka's eyes begin to wander, however, and she's soon taking in the room. Kiara had said it was an office, but Priyanka thinks it looks like a classroom. A super fancy home economics classroom with large workspaces and ovens, but definitely a classroom, and definitely not an office.

"Kiara said this was an office but it doesn't look like an office," tumbles from her lips before she can stop herself. "No offence."

"It works as both," Rita explains, opening a cabinet that turns out to be a fridge that turns out to be full of cakes with paper name cards next to them. "Most of my lessons are in a plain classroom, about the theory. Cooking is less frequent, so it's more empty and I use the room as my office. It is full of my secrets if you know where to look."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, but you will regret it if you _do_ look," Rita says in a low tone, before letting out a chuckle. She has, by now, set her cake out on the counter and opened a drawer with clean dishes.

Priyanka smiles faintly, and Scarlett goes to stand next to her. She rests her arms on the workstation and leans forward to let it take her weight, then looks at Priyanka.

"How's your first day been?" Scarlett asks.

"Some girl called me Peronka," she answers with a sigh, and leans on the table too. "And I found out an old friend works here."

"No way!" Scarlett shouts. "Who?"

"Juice," Priyanka says. Scarlett frowns. "Jasmine."

"Oh, she's great! You should totally speak to her."

"Yeah, we've already sent a couple of emails," Priyanka tells Scarlett, a sudden cheer seeping into her voice.

"Awesome. How do you know her then?"

"Spice Girls."

"You've gotta give a girl more than that!"

"Spice Girls, _college_ , and _alcohol_. That enough?" she banters.

"You are _so_ telling me more some time," Scarlett relents, beaming.

"The secrets'll die with me," Priyanka jokes, and holds her fingers up. "Scout's honour."

And then, suddenly, amazingly, a slice of coffee cake is placed in front of her (and one in front of Scarlett). "Enjoy, ladies," Rita tells them, and brings a stool over to sit on the opposite side of the table.

Scarlett kisses two of her own fingers and presses them to Rita’s cheek. "You're an angel, Rita.”

"Yeah, thanks, Rita," Priyanka echoes with a smile.

Priyanka picks the fork up delicately and cuts a piece of the cake off, preparing to lift it to her mouth. 

And then a tornado walks in the room.

And, _then,_ Scarlett screams right next to Priyanka's ear and jumps up to greet the tornado. She nearly knocks the women off their feet with the force of the hug and Priyanka's eyes widen, suddenly very appreciative that Scarlett didn't try that with her.

"Oh, I missed you!" Scarlett shrieks.

"Hi!" and an assortment of other exclamations follow, and Priyanka can't do much more than stare.

"That's just how they are," Rita explains, placing her hand over Priyanka's free one to assure her. Priyanka tenses a little at the contact but smiles and continues to watch Scarlett and—

"Priyanka! Hey, you came!"

"Oh! Kiara, hi, I didn't recognise you!" Priyanka replies as Kiara comes to the table as well.

"Jimbo used me as background," is the explanation she gives for the green stains on her skin and the frazzled hair.

"Excuse me?"

"In theatre," Kiara adds. "It's stage make-up. I was shrubbery, but the lead is on acid so I had to move."

"Huh… Why'd you agree to it?"

"I was free, I owe her… And despite the crazy she _is_ fun to work with."

"Also, the lead was tripping? Hello?"

Kiara laughs. "Yeah, I can't see that going down well with parents."

"Were they eighteen at least?" Priyanka asks.

"Freshmen, I think."

"No wonder Lemon didn't want me interviewing with Jimbo, fuck."

The room stills.

"What?" Priyanka inquires meekly.

"Nothing," "nevermind," “huh?” and "moving on" are all said at once by the four other women. Priyanka squints, not happy to keep it as nothing, but moves on regardless. Democracy at work.

“I’m Tynomi,” the woman Kiara had entered with announces, changing the focus.

“Priyanka, I just started in English."

Tynomi nods and pulls another stool out to the table she clocks as the congregational table. She inhales and sighs contentedly. "Rita is my saviour.”

Rita shrugs with exaggerated coyness, and Priyanka laughs.

“Do you guys know if Jui– Jasmine, uh, if Jasmine’s doing okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, she’s engaged I think,” Tynomi replies, before leaning over and taking Scarlett’s plate.

“I meant today,” Priyanka clarifies. “In the last few hours.”

“Oh! Not seen her, sorry. Why?”

“She’s been quiet.”

“She’s with Jimbo,” Kiara interjects, hopping backward onto the next table along and using that as her chair. “Last I saw they were arguing about a CD or some stupid shit.”

“...Right! Thanks.”

"Now, cake please Rita!"

* * *

To: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

From: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmineboxx@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: RE: RE: OMG

It's the VHS part Pri!!

I have time right now if you're free though! I'll be in the music office all lunch if you can swing by :)

From,

Jasmine B.

Music Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

To: [ jasmineboxx@cci.edu ](mailto:jasmineboxx@cci.edu)

From: [ priyankasuki@cci.edu ](mailto:priyankasuki@cci.edu)

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: OMG

On my way! bitch

Sent from my phone

From,

Priyanka S.

English Department, Charles Collegiate Institute, Toronto.

* * *

Priyanka soon excuses herself, promises Rita a gift in return for the cake she'd all but devoured, and begins walking to where she _knows,_ this time, that the music department is.

The walk is long and isolated enough that her mind runs five marathons in the time it takes her to reach the office.

So she hesitates again. And this time she manages to go in the room ahead of her of her own accord, heart threatening to shatter her ribs but an accomplishment nonetheless.

"Hey, is J–"

"Priyanka!"

Priyanka turns and squeals a little as she sees Juice, and opens her arms for a hug. The offer is taken, far more eagerly than Priyanka expected, and the hug, to her, feels like some kind of mutual recompense for the time — the _years_ — spent apart.

It takes Juice a few minutes to tidy up her corner of the music office before she and Priyanka begin their meandering, and it takes mere _seconds_ of conversation for them to feel like they're back in college, the words being shared easy and fluid and fun. The walk comes to a natural stop at a vacant bench near the edge of a small green that Priyanka supposes is used as a playground, and they sit next to one another comfortably.

"Sooo," Priyanka starts as she turns to Juice and shuffles to get comfortable. "Word is you're getting married."

Juice practically jumps with joy. "Yes, oh my god! I totally forgot you wouldn't know!" She offers Priyanka her left hand, engagement ring as bright and earnest as she is. "Stunning, right?" Priyanka nods, holding Juice's hand in both of hers delicately. "How about you then?"

"How about me what?" she asks quietly, focused on committing the details of the ring to memory. It really is a good ring.

"You, romance, _ladies_ ," Juice replies, playful but still sincere.

Priyanka hums shortly, non-committal, as she sits back and wonders how to word her response without sounding super lame in front of her ex-best friend who's now _engaged_. "Nothing major, I guess," is what she comes up with.

"Something minor?" Juice probes.

"Not really."

"Not really or no, Pri!" she whines in mock desperation.

"Uh, no, I think? No. Nothing major or minor."

She hates the flash of pity that passes over Juice's face.

"Ah well," Juice says awkwardly after a beat. "You'll find someone, I'm sure. If you want to. Do you want to…?"

Priyanka shrugs.

The atmosphere takes a hit after that.

They build it back up with new anecdotes and photos and memories and nearly-forgotten inside jokes, and before Priyanka can register that time has passed at all, the bell rings again.

"This was really great, Pri," Juice says with a kind smile.

"Yeah! God, never knew how much I actually missed this."

"I'm really glad you're here."

"Me too. Glad that you're here. And that I'm here. Both."

Juice laughs and gets up to walk away, before snapping back. "Oh! Give me your phone, before we forget."

Priyanka gives Juice a skeptical look.

"Phone number, dummy."

So she unlocks her phone and hands it over, and then Juice's number is in her phone, and Juice sends herself a message from it so she can save Priyanka's number too.

"Love you!" Juice exclaims with a wave, already walking to her next class. Priyanka makes a heart with her hands.

* * *

Heading down the corridor to the room she’d met with Lemon in earlier, Priyanka begins to fret, and fret _hard._ She has a habit of downplaying her ability without even realising it, sure, but she’s almost positive that her dancing will embarrass her and disappoint Lemon. (And disappointing Lemon, Priyanka realises (but quickly shoves to the darkest corner of her brain), would quite honestly break her heart.) Maybe she’d become a staff joke. But, _fuck,_ what if Lemon ends up thinking she’s not cool or talented or worthy of her time? She really doesn’t want to mess anything up with Lemon.

And then she walks into someone. Brilliant.

“I’m _so_ sorry, I— Brooke! Oh, god.” Priyanka stumbles back and Brooke just looks at her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks casually after a handful of seconds that are agonising to Priyanka.

“Uh.” Priyanka points to the classroom door with the five on it. “We made a bet.”

Brooke tilts her head slightly. “You and… Lemon? About what?”

“Dancing.”

“Right…”

Priyanka nods, awkwardly, before scrambling back into speech with gangly enthusiasm. “Oh! If I win though, if I win, she’s gonna have to give me your office!”

“You’re paying for my gravestone, then,” Brooke jokes.

Priyanka opens her mouth to reply before pausing to think. “She wouldn’t seriously kill you over a bet, though, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Brooke says with a nod. “She’s ruthless, that girl.”

There’s another blanket of silence, before Priyanka eventually states, with a poorly hidden smirk, “Guess I’ve got even more motivation to win now.”

Brooke laughs and swats at Priyanka’s arm with her hand, and suddenly the hall fills with sweaty teenagers eager to get home. Yet when the hall clears, Priyanka doesn’t move. “C’mon,” Brooke coaxes, and links their arms together smoothly.

“Priyanka! Hey!” Lemon exclaims with a little cheer from her seat on the floor, laptop between her legs. “Also Brooke Lynn, you’re here, wow,” she adds flatly after turning her attentions back to the screen.

“How are you judging this bet fairly, by the way?” Brooke teases, walking behind Lemon to watch the screen as well. Lemon points to something, Brooke shakes her head, Lemon rolls her eyes. “Have you heard anything from Jan?”

“She’s here next week, twenty three confirmed and up to four more might be able to as well which is _great_ because we have twenty five signed up,” Lemon replies, and Priyanka wishes she knew what on earth they were talking about. “So as long as Widow’s planned properly and _you’ve_ planned properly…” Lemon laughs as Brooke glowers. “Also I judge fairly, fuck you!”

“Sure you do.”

“I was even gonna give Priyanka song choice, Brooke, that’s how fair I am.”

“Wow,” Brooke croons sarcastically. “What a generous woman you are.”

“Shut _up_! Anyway, Priyanka!” Lemon closes her laptop and stands up. “What song gets your pussy popping?”

Priyanka splutters, buffering. “Excuse me?”

“What do you wanna dance to?”

 _What’s a cool song, Pri? Think._ “You pick.”

“It needs to be fair.”

“Is it lame if I say Celine Dion?”

“Yes,” Lemon says, and nudges Brooke gently — who turns pink and gives Lemon a shove in response.

“Hannah Montana?”

“You aren’t desecrating my studio with Hannah Montana.”

“I don’t _know,_ Allie X maybe?”

Lemon hums and gives a very very small shrug.

“Fuck, pick for me then!”

Lemon cocks a brow. “I might play something awful.”

“What, like _Gangnam Style_? Oh, or Crazy Frog! I’ll have you know _Axel F_ will be the first dance at my wedding.”

Lemon seems to freeze. “You’re getting married?”

Priyanka’s face scrunches up in confusion. “What? God, no.” She holds her left hand up. “Definitely a single lady! Just been talking weddings.”

Lemon nods slowly, and then her face lights up. “ _Single Ladies_?”

“I mean. I know the dance?” Priyanka looks at Brooke Lynn. “And there _are_ three of us.”

Brooke immediately shakes her head. “I’m not doing the _Single Ladies_ dance.”

“Even if you get to be Beyoncé?” Lemon pleads with puppy dog eyes and her hands clasped together.

“...No.”

“You’re such a _bitch_ , Brooke Lynn,” Lemon whines, before kneeling and opening her laptop back up. She types rapidly and slides the laptop over to the socket on the wall, quickly setting the room’s sound system up. “You have to stay and judge though.”

“I wouldn't dream of letting you loose in a judging role.”

“I, er, I still need to change,” Priyanka interjects.

Lemon curses under her breath and snaps her fingers whilst her brain catches up. She opens her kit bag next to the sockets, and rummages through it, eventually tossing Priyanka a pastel yellow hoodie and black leggings. “It might be a bit small,” she apologises. “Brooke should have better stuff if you need it.”

“It’ll be fine,” Priyanka assures. “Thank you.”

“No worries, girlie,” Lemon says with a smile. “Winning fairly is always more fun anyway.”

* * *

The last vocalisation of the song calls out and Priyanka nearly collapses.

Brooke cheers.

Lemon eye-fucks herself in the mirror.

“Oh my _god,_ Priyanka!” Brooke exclaims. “My job’s in danger with you around!”

Priyanka, heaving, just nods, and even that makes her muscles implode. She knows it’s been a long time since she’s done exercise beyond hiking, but she didn’t know that three minutes of dancing (admittedly, dancing with two dance teachers in the room that she was trying to impress) would wind her so much. Maybe she would’ve eased up if she knew; at least a messy dance has a certain charm to it, unlike sweat and breathlessness.

“Seriously girl,” Lemon agrees, taking a snarky bow to Brooke before rushing to prevent her laptop from playing the next track. “You're way better than a back-up extra girl in _Glee_. You could be Santana or something, that was great.”

“Yeah?” Priyanka eventually asks.

“Oh for sure. I’m still more like the Brittany though.” Lemon’s eyes widen slightly. “Or Mike. We aren’t… I’m. You’re…”

“Sure.”

“Yeah.”

Brooke coughs.

“Put Priyanka out of her misery,” Lemon quips, apparently recovering faster than the speed of sound.

“I hate to say this because I know it’ll go to your head, Lem,” Brooke gingerly begins. “But… Priyanka, you were lagging behind. Only a bit! You were _really_ good, I promise.”

Priyanka nods. “Thank you.”

Lemon grins a grin filled with mischief. “Miss Hytes, say hello to our new dryad.”

Priyanka and Brooke both whip their heads to look at Lemon with confusion.

“Act two, scene five, catch up.”

Brooke frowns further.

Lemon sighs. “I win, Priyanka’s in the dance; Priyanka wins, she’s in your office.”

“That’s ridiculous,” is all Brooke says.

“What do you mean dryad?” Priyanka asks.

“In _Don Quixote_?” Lemon offers. “The garden of Dulcinea?” Nothing. “I could’ve made you a gnome, bitch, you’re welcome.”

“Oh,” Priyanka says dryly. “Thank you _ever_ so much for your grace.”

“Watch it on the internet or something.”

Priyanka shakes her head. “I’m gonna make this as hard for you as I possibly can, no way.”

Lemon looks directly into Priyanka’s eyes. “Good luck.”

Priyanka swishes her hair mockingly. “I don’t need it.”

“You will.”

“I—” (Brooke coughs again, with a particular pointedness this time.) “I was just leaving.”

Lemon blows Priyanka a kiss and a “bye, babe,” whilst Brooke just congratulates her again.

She’s halfway home when she realises she’s still in Lemon’s clothes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [looks at the date] haha this is totally on a normal schedule what do you mean
> 
> ngl i finish a chapter then immediately post it or my brain goes FERAL. it's bad and chapter 4 went through countless renditions it really didn't want to be written oops
> 
> i think i'm vaguely happy with this though! sure i wish it was longer but i can't figure out how without going off the deep end so w/e. plus i've planted some seeds that i'm happy with and i used a lot of brackets which is pretentious so i love it
> 
> ALSO introducingggg jan and jackie! don't ask how they work i don't know i just wanted it to be gay and have someone in the rpdr franchise own the club but i'd already established in my head that all the cdr girls + brooke were teachers so. :) also i do prefer brunette jan but everyone writes blonde jan and i think she wears blonde more.. F
> 
> (disclaimer: i don't drink, i've never drink-ed, and i don't ever plan to drink despite being of legal age to do so. have fun with me pretending i know about alcohol. i do have a pinterest board of pretty drinks though so That is in fact real!)
> 
> i'm very much rambling at this point but on a real note: thank you all so so much for your comments they really do mean so much! and i hope you enjoy this chapter<3

Priyanka doesn't do dangerous.

She does, however, do colleague-encouraged binge drinking on a Friday night after months of unintentional sobriety, with no set plans for getting back home safely. Which sober Priyanka would consider dangerous.

And she does, against all odds, end up sitting in the corner of a bar in downtown Toronto with a less-drunk Lemon, Priyanka cheerily draped all over her, and inevitably flirting like only drunk Priyanka does. Which sober Priyanka would consider _fatal_.

She's too blinded by amaretto cocktails and fancy floral gin to register the ebb and flow of Lemon's enthusiasm — her eyes flitting to the door, her shies away from the gazes of the bar's other patrons, the way her blood seems to run cold when she every so often notices herself get too caught up in Priyanka.

If… _When_ , Priyanka realises this, after the night plasters itself onto her clearer, alcohol-drained brain, she'll no doubt scramble through a trainwreck of panic. That's tomorrow's problem though.

Today's problem is preventing a hangover.

Yesterday's problem was, probably, being invited to this fucking club.

* * *

“It’s at _Jackie’s_ in downtown,” Scarlett said, leaning against the most secluded wall she knows about on the grounds, with a cigarette between her lips. “And it’s to welcome you, you bitch, so you better come.”

“Sure,” Priyanka said back, facing away from the exhales of smoke. “What kinda time?”

“Uh, let’s say eight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” Priyanka took a sip of her shitty machine-made coffee. “Is there, like, a dress code?”

“It’s a club,” Scarlett told her flatly. Priyanka laughed.

And, then, after her next class, Priyanka, almost on instinct, found herself bouncing her way to the sports building.

And, _then_ , Priyanka, as Priyanka does, stepped on and then over a line. Just a little.

“Are you sure I’m allowed to go?” Lemon had asked, _ever_ so slightly sharply, in return to Priyanka’s invitation.

Priyanka frowned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s _my_ party, right?”

“I guess.” Lemon met Priyanka’s eyes with her own, and Priyanka couldn’t help but stumble into a well of pity at the vulnerability painted on Lemon’s face. “They don’t really like me, Pri.” Priyanka had squinted, a million questions rising in her throat. “I know I’m all about number one, and I _am_ , but I also don’t wanna ruin your night.”

“Why, uh… Why don’t they like you?” _You fucking idiot Priyanka, that’s not what you should've said.  
_

“They think I got this job because I knew Brooke from a dance company a few years ago,” Lemon said after a few moments. “Also I was a complete bitch when I joined.”

Priyanka nodded. That’s all she’s doing lately, apparently. “You’re still a complete bitch, Lemon.” _Yo_ _u_ **_fucking idiot_** _Priyanka_ _._

Lemon laughed, louder than Priyanka expected. “Thanks.” Her smile was sweet enough that Priyanka couldn’t do much else but look away, blinded by the delight of it.

“My night’d be more ruined without you in it, for what it’s worth,” she added eventually, looking back to Lemon with a gentle, unsteady, but sincere smile.

“Yeah?”

Priyanka nodded.

“All right,” Lemon answered quietly. “Yeah.”

Priyanka can’t remember a time she’s felt as giddy with joy.

* * *

Her hands had trembled as she held her mascara wand to her eyelashes. She’d sent upward of twenty different outfits to her group chat of old friends, overthinking until she couldn’t take it much longer. She’d sipped on a shitty can of rosé as she’d gotten ready.

And ready she most certainly wasn’t.

Priyanka had stumbled into the taxi whilst still pulling her jacket on, a teddy jacket with one half a bright orange and half a vibrant blue, a breath mint still on her tongue, and her boot-laces undone.

“Hey, uh, _Jackie's_ in downtown please?” she said, relieved from the end to her twelve floor journey down from apartment to street. The driver nodded and jabbed at his sat-nav, and Priyanka clicked her seatbelt into place swiftly. “Thanks.”

He had the radio on, Priyanka was elated to realise — code for the guy not wanting to talk, thank _god_. She was slightly less pleased when she parsed the music, some dad rock that Priyanka never got into, but she laced her ankle boots, and laid her head down on the head-rest for the journey nonetheless.

Then, suddenly, the ride came to its end.

Priyanka saw Rita and Jimbo first when she glanced out the window. Well. Jimbo's... _Chest_ , then her arm linked with Rita's arm, and then Rita.

She confirmed the fare payment on her phone, left a tip, as always, and thanked the man as she left the car for the line to _Jackie's_.

“Miss Baga!” Priyanka had shouted with a wave as she settled at the back of the queue.

“Bonjour!” Rita had yelled back with a wave. She would've invited Priyanka forward, but there were at least twelve people between them that didn't look best pleased at their _raised voices_ , let alone pushing ahead.

Jimbo had just howled, to a confused smile-and-nod from Priyanka.

Then, five minutes into her chilly wait on the pavement, her spot at the front of the queue came and went, and, fuck, did the inside of _Jackie’s_ immediately feel like somewhere made for Priyanka.

It wasn’t too dark, but there was still the level of low light that she'd come to expect from clubs (and there was nothing flashing, thank _fuck_ ), there were seats that looked clean for once, a patriotic pattern of gentle red and white lights above the bar and a neon sign of a red maple leaf between the bathroom doors. Most surprisingly was the array of houseplants throughout the room, some hung from the ceiling, others lining the walls, and a select few beauties behind the bar amongst the bottles of booze. Priyanka was also relieved that the place wasn’t drowning in the smell of piss and beer — instead, she would guess, pine and something woody. _This is **such** a dyke bar. _ (As if to confirm those basically already confirmed suspicions, some pretty blonde woman in purple leaned over the bartop to press a kiss to the bartender’s lips, before jumping off with a flurry of yellow to somewhere Priyanka couldn’t see.)

She was called over to a booth that was, thankfully, in the corner, and only occupied by a handful of Charles Collegiate staff — Rita and Jimbo, of course, as well as Scarlett, Ilona, Kiara and… Kind? Kyne? She wasn’t entirely sure, but she recognised the woman’s face, and Priyanka headed over with a pep in her walk, all smiles.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, taking a seat. “You all look great!”

“You too!” Kiara had replied instantly, nudging her companion to do the same (who did little more than shrug); Rita winked at Priyanka and Jimbo had put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in tight for a sideways hug. Ilona and Scarlett were in their own little world, gossipping about something or other.

“First round’s on me,” Tynomi had announced with a sly laugh a moment later, holding a tray of drinks that were passed about seemingly at random. Priyanka held her glass up to _cheers_ with everyone else, and soon lost herself to the alcohol.

* * *

Priyanka remembers three things from her first two hours in _Jackie’s_ :

One: screaming along to _Love Thing_ (the best Spice Girls song, obviously — she had even used a line from it as her yearbook quote) with Juice as it played over the speakers, holding each other far too close for nearly forgotten friends, one woman engaged and both as gay as the day is long.

Two: kissing a stranger when the lights went down who smelled like grapefruit and felt like heaven.

Three: a hasty game of truth or drink wherein Rita admitted to having had _relations_ with at least four different staff members, and Priyanka downed three shots of gin that plunged her tongue into a lavender hell and her throat into whatever disaster lies waiting underneath the lowest layer of that hell. (Still better than answering the question she was asked though, really.)

By ten o'clock, Priyanka’s jacket was in an awkwardly forming quilt with the rest of the group’s belongings at their booth, guarded lazily by a dozing Juice and a glued-to-her-phone Kiara, the latter clutching a half pint of cider with her other hand.

That flurry of yellow she'd seen in passing earlier was, inevitably, Lemon, Priyanka had learned, who’d been catching up in the back-room with her best friend, Jan (the bar’s owner’s girlfriend. Lesbians are far too complicated for Priyanka, fuck). Jan had been oddly reluctant to let go of Lemon’s hand when they’d bumped into Priyanka, but Lemon was basically stuck to Priyanka at that point, so she'd had no choice but to stand back and simply offer Lemon a worried smile.

Lemon had left a streak of lip-gloss on Priyanka’s cheek (which Priyanka pretended to not notice, just so she didn’t have to wipe it off and let herself forget Lemon’s affections so soon), dragged her across the club for a few dances that were notably sloppier than their previous showdown (by both parties), then they’d fallen into another booth together, giggling.

“Is that the Jan you mentioned in the thing?” Priyanka asked, resting her head on the table.

“Mhm,” Lemon had replied, laying her head down to mirror Priyanka, so they were eye-to-eye. “She's Jackie's girlfriend and my best friend, and she knows Scarlett so it kind of works out well for everyone.”

“Yeah.” Priyanka watched Lemon's face for far too long, smiling to herself as she thought certain thoughts or memorised certain things about her. The faintest signs of freckles underneath her foundation, the glitter on her cheeks and eyelids, her dark eyebrows, her bright yellow hair that was messy and resting all over her face despite Lemon's normally perfect image and the best efforts of the diamante clips in her hair (the top one reading 'BOSS' and the bottom reading 'BITCH'). It was refreshing to Priyanka, maybe. Priyanka was super drunk.

(Sober Priyanka wishes she could see this side of Lemon more, vulnerable and frayed and pretty, oh my _god_ she's so pretty—)

“You're pretty, Luisa.”

“You're drunk, Priyanka.”

Anastarzia came around every so often to check on all the Charles Collegiate girls, though she didn’t appear to enjoy caring for Lemon, and brought Priyanka over an amaretto with cream and a cherry at her request (it wasn’t on the menu, no, but Priyanka was _adamant_ she’d seen it on Pinterest once and had whined until she’d got one). Though obviously wasted herself, Anastarzia still chastised Priyanka for drinking — though, granted, she was basically sober in comparison to Priyanka. Priyanka shakily waved her away with a smile and a ‘thank you!’ before taking a sip, and turned to Lemon once more.

“It’s marzipan-y,” Priyanka had slurred, pointing her glass in Lemon’s face.

Lemon had squinted, and used her thumb to wipe the cream off of Priyanka’s nose with tender affection. She licked at her thumb, watching Priyanka with childish glee. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Priyanka took another sip. “Marzipan is almonds.”

Lemon nodded, smirking, and took a swig of her own drink.

Then she glanced at the door.

Priyanka didn’t notice. She just slumped further into Lemon’s body, warm and citrus-y and comfortable.

“Pri,” Lemon murmured after a while, forcing herself to take her hand from stroking Priyanka's hair. “Pri, get up, please.”

So Priyanka did.

And they spoke again, slowly and probably full of sloshed half-truths, about _Don Quixote_ and Lemon’s old dance company and what Michelle’s house is like, and Priyanka’s head found its way onto Lemon’s shoulder, and Lemon tensed immediately and Priyanka didn’t notice.

“Priyanka,” Lemon had mumbled again. “Up, please.”

If Priyanka were less drunk, she’d have noticed the absolute mess Lemon had become that was definitely _not_ caused by her one and a half bellinis, but she wasn’t less drunk, so she didn’t. She did get off of Lemon's shoulder though, eyes heavy and limbs heavier.

“Wanna ge— get out of here?” Priyanka asked when she found the strength to open one eye halfway, sniggering as she looked at Lemon.

Lemon had tensed again. (Priyanka didn’t notice.) She glanced around, almost pained, but nodded and offered her arms for Priyanka to hold onto.

Priyanka stumbled forward as she stood, her face falling into the crook of Lemon’s perfect neck, and hummed a cheeky ‘my hero.’

Lemon had, unbeknownst to Priyanka, awkwardly and flatly asked the Charles Collegiate table if Priyanka had left anything there, quietly accepting the snark from Scarlett’s words for the first time she can actually remember (as well as Priyanka's jacket).

Lemon had, too, later given Priyanka her bed. And her best pillow. And her humidifier.

And Lemon didn’t mind. Much.

 _Greedy bitch stealing my stuff,_ she thought to herself as she fell asleep on her sofa. A comfortable, plush sofa, but nowhere near the luxury of her bed. Which Priyanka was in. The fucking whore.

Shit.

This was definitely going to complicate things.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing sprint writing sprint writing sprint writing sp
> 
> also i'm slowly realising i could merge more of the chapters together and it'd read just the same. oh well! maybe next time lol
> 
> hope you enjoy x

It's warm. A perfect kind of warm. A warm that makes you forget you have a body and you're just _warm_ and floating for a moment, but then you realise you've woken up in a stranger's bed and your head kills and—

“Fuck.”

(It's a stifling kind of warm now.)

Priyanka wants to get out of bed. She really does, earnestly, but her body won't work with her. Her head is spinning, her legs feel weak, and she knows that she'd probably fall if she could stand anyway, so she concedes and rolls over in the lushness of the stellar sheets. Priyanka lays her head down on a mustard yellow pillow, and lets herself fall asleep. She dreams about grapefruit tinged love bites.

When Priyanka wakes up again, all the lights and lamps are off in the room, still, but there's enough daylight drifting through the curtains that she can see well enough. And this room is definitely a sight.

The curtains are the same yellow as the pillow-cases (and there's one wall painted that same god-damn yellow (the rest being a sparkling white)). They're rippled, thick, and Priyanka considers taking them — she'd got her own for less than five bucks at a closing-down sale. There’s three mirrors that Priyanka can see; one as the wardrobe door, one above the headboard with a gilded frame, and one small double-sided mirror in a rose-gold stand on a table in the corner. There are, too, glorious prints adorning the walls — abstract pops of colour that Priyanka can’t interpret, gradients and chunky landscapes, nothing in small measures. The sheets are quite possibly the softest sheets Priyanka’s ever felt, they still smell like fresh laundry, and they’re a pristine snow white displaying an incredible lack of creases.

_Whoever’s bedroom this is is a bougie motherfucker._

Priyanka rolls over, onto her tummy, and takes in the bedside table closest to her. There are four things on this table: an old lamp, that Priyanka would never in a million years place in a modern apartment like this but it works; a glass of water, decorated by a yellow sticky-note with ‘pri x’ written on it; a golden locket tucked behind the lamp; and, fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck- _fuck_ , a framed photograph of Lemon and Jan, old enough that Lemon's hair isn't even dyed and she's not got a spot of yellow on her.

_Oh. Shit._

She cradles her head in her hands and bites her tongue to prevent a shout of frustration and shame coming out. This, being a drunk disaster and taking Lemon’s bed and doing god-knows-what last night, was definitely nowhere in Priyanka’s plans. It took, what, less than a week of being in her role officially and she’s already done one of the most embarrassing things she’s ever done in her life? And with _Lemon_ , too — anybody but Lemon would’ve been better, less mortifying, less completely and utterly stupid.

 _How in the_ **_hell_ ** _did you get into this, Pri?_

And, then, there’s the distant clicking of a lock and Priyanka’s flight-or-flight instinct kicks in. She inevitably chooses flight (the first flight, because it's sooner than the second flight), and she scrambles out of the bed onto the floor (hardwood, shiny like it’s just been varnished, a duck egg rug under the windowsill) to dart across the room and assess the window behind those yellow curtains. (There's blackout blinds furled up above her head too. This girl is _extra_ extra.)

The apartment is high enough up that Priyanka can taste death on her tongue just by considering the window as an escape route, though that may be last night's awful decisions coming back to haunt her further. Great.

That distant door thuds shut, and there’s chatter outside — quiet, but still chatter — so Priyanka creeps back to the bed and tries to feign sleep like a kid, shuffling her legs so the sheets tangle in them to give the impression of a restless sleep. She closes her eyes and calms her breathing at just the right time.

“I’m just gonna check on her, J,” she hears _her_ , Lemon, say, before gently opening the bedroom door.

Priyanka begins to overthink the force of her exhales, the timing of her inhales, and the strength at which her eyes are closed, as she feels Lemon just _watch_ her.

“Pri?” Lemon asks, eventually, quiet and meek and hopeful. Priyanka doesn’t move. “Priyanka?” She still doesn’t move. Lemon does, however, and pads across the room to fetch something from the bottom drawer of the bedside table with the photo on.

When Lemon stands up straight again, she stops. Priyanka swears she can hear Lemon’s heartbeat, but that may just be her own — or a headache coming on. And all of a sudden there’s fingertips grazing her temple, and they delicately push back Priyanka’s hair from her face to behind her ear.

Lemon’s hand lingers, then, faster than either woman can register the moment, Lemon pulls back as though she’d been burned, and rushes out of the room, closing the door behind her.

_I’m gonna single-handedly bring back prohibition, I swear._

* * *

“So, me and you, dinner and a movie, and trying to beat whatever record she set last night?” Jan asks when Lemon comes back in the room, with a nod to the door.

“Always,” Lemon replies with a smile, hopping onto her sofa next to Jan. “I still can’t believe you got Widow to let you come here early.”

“Me either, girl.”

“Who’s the other chaperone then?”

“Widow’s a one-woman event, Lu.”

Lemon rolls her eyes. “Kids are crazy.”

“I guess Heidi can help.”

“Heidi better be good at herding children in-flight,” Lemon says, quiet as she leans into Jan’s shoulder.

“Herding Heidi,” Jan whispers to herself with a giggle.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Lemon lazily reaches for Jan’s hand.

* * *

Of _course_ Priyanka had to use _Hollaback Girl_ as Juice's ringtone, a juvenile nod to their first Halloween in college. (Priyanka had wanted to go as the car from the music video. Juice had thrown a Gwen Stefani-esque red leotard at her instead.) And, of _course_ her phone had to blast right next to her ear, in her bag on the other bedside table, and of course she had to scream.

Of course Lemon had to burst in the room right after.

(Of course Priyanka looked like she'd slept in a tornado.)

"Jasmine," Priyanka explains, gesturing at her bag. "Old friend."

Jan pops up behind Lemon. She immediately leaves again.

"Jan," Lemon says in response, pointing behind her. "Old friend."

"I'm not old, you bitch!" comes from the other room. Lemon laughs. Priyanka smiles awkwardly, and her phone finally shuts up.

"You good?" Lemon asks before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I guess," Priyanka says, and pulls her legs closer to her so she doesn't accidentally brush against Lemon. Quiet. She watches her fingernails. "Did you waterboard me or something?"

"Huh?"

"Normally my hangovers are a _million_ times worse than this. Drunk Pri hates water."

"Drunk Pri likes me then, I guess," Lemon tells her. She doesn't let the weight of those words show on her face, miraculously. "One glass when we got in, I had one while you changed in the bathroom, and then you had another glass and I put you to sleep and here we are."

Priyanka nods. She realises for the first time that she is, again, in Lemon's clothes. The top is clearly on back-to-front, so Priyanka doing it herself checks out, and she _is_ faring surprisingly well considering…

"When, uh, when did Jan get here?" Priyanka asks, knowing the answer already.

"Maybe a half hour ago? You were _dead_ asleep, and Jan wanted company because she's a needy bitch." Silence. "See? No back-chat, she knows I'm right. Is that okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You two are strangers, you were drunk, you're in a new place…"

"Mm. It's fine though, seriously — you dragged a drunk girl home safe, she can't be picky about the weekend guest-list!"

Lemon smiles.

Priyanka flounders.

"Do I, uh, do you want these back?" Priyanka asks, gesturing to her sleepwear.

"Are you leaving?"

"I'm awake so I can get out of your hair now, sure?"

They both look at each other. They both want Priyanka to stay. They both encourage Priyanka to leave.

"Oh, yeah, okay. Just leave them on the bed, I guess? I'll grab your stuff, one sec."

"Thanks."

So Priyanka leaves.

* * *

Priyanka: whats up

baby spice: You ok?

Priyanka: you rang to ask if im ok??? ok mom

baby spice: I worryyyyy you know this

Priyanka: yea im fine lem took me home (dont get any ideas) and im in an uber now

baby spice: Uber of shame

baby spice: Who said that? Smh

Priyanka: no slutshaming in my uber, bad juicey

Priyanka: but fr fr FR nothing happened

baby spice: You said that in junior year :)

Priyanka: fuck offff

* * *

Priyanka sleeps for another five hours when she gets home.

Lemon's bed is, by all means, better than her own, but Priyanka still prefers _this_ bed, _her_ bed, safe and assuring and welcoming. (She could do with Lemon's massive windows though.)

This time, she dreams about Lemon's apartment, in an alternate world where Lemon's the estate agent and Priyanka's going for a viewing, and Lemon's wearing a pencil skirt and a tight white button-up and a blazer with a cute name badge and it _definitely_ doesn't turn into a sex dream except it totally does.

Ah.

Fuck.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why can't i write longer chapters smh
> 
> anyway.
> 
> :)

When Lemon stumbles from her bed to her kitchen, it's dusk, and she has school to teach tomorrow. That isn't, however, the worst part of her situation.

Through the previous night, she and Jan had been drinking like they didn't have any responsibilities and then drinking some more, to the point that Lemon's own footsteps are now like gunshots, and _she has school to teach tomorrow_. But, that isn't the worst part.

At another point in the night — exactly thirty eight minutes past three, her phone says — she'd texted her ex. A long, incoherent paragraph that mentioned his dog twice, and probably some terribly embarrassing things which Lemon couldn't bring herself to read properly. That still isn't the worst part.

No, at five fifteen, her phone says, after a day of talking with Jan about being in love with women and a night of being around gay women in a dingy gay bar, she'd drunk-dialed Priyanka. That's the worst part.

Fuck.

* * *

When Lemon finishes her run and her sudden stillness lets the rest of her body catch up with her feet, she throws up. She manages to stumble close to a grate in the gutter, and it's mostly bile that comes up, but it's still _awful_. The only mercy is the dark of a winter morning, rendering the streets empty and protecting a shred of her dignity. (Lemon's sure there's a security camera across the street that caught it but she doesn't want to think about that.)

Lemon sits in the bath for a good half hour, the shower-head above pelting her with hot water, then warm, and now cold. It wasn't her intention to just stall, by any means, but she was wracked with guilt, shame, exhaustion, all sorts of anxieties, with the vaguest tendrils of a hangover still present, and her muscles ached and sobbed for some kind of relief.

If she wasn't so damn _tired_ she would've been furious at her complacency.

* * *

lu: i have enough timmies points for a coffee and a donut

lu: can jackie drive me in today please

jan 👯: i’ll ask

lu: ty

jan 👯: she said yeah what time

lu: uhhh

lu: as early as possible

lu: ideally 6.30 but i know thats pretty soon

jan 👯: she said see u at 6:25

lu: tell her shes an angel

jan 👯: as if i dont tell her that every day

lu: ur gay

* * *

Lemon sits in the back of Jackie's car with a really awful breakfast in her water bottle. It's basically just fruit and seeds and Lemon never drinks it for the taste anyway but there's something about it today that's worse than normal.

Maybe it's all in her head.

Lemon taps her foot before downing the rest of it, grimacing as she does, and she shivers after it's all gone down. Making a mental note to rinse it out the second she gets into school, Lemon stuffs the bottle back into her backpack (decidedly not a Jansport — she'd never give Jan the satisfaction in a million years), and tunes into Jackie and Jan's conversation.

" _West Side Story_ is better, Jackie," Jan whines.

"It isn't though!" Jackie laughs, eyes firmly on the road.

"It is, trust me."

"I _do_ trust you but you're wrong here." She turns to Jan for a second, tone all teasing: "And that's okay, baby."

Jan looks at Lemon from the front seat.

" _West Side_ slaps," Lemon agrees with a nod. " _Rocky Horror_ is good but, hello, Rita Moreno? The whole _America_ number? _A Boy Like That_?"

"Just because you're better friends," Jackie tuts.

"Don't blame us for your bad taste, bitch."

"I'll turn this car around, kids!"

"Just play it cool, boy."

"Real cool," Jan chimes.

The laugh Lemon shares with Jan and Jackie that morning is the best painkiller she's ever had.

* * *

Lemon's first class of the week is mostly uneventful, carried by a kitsch pop soundtrack, girls who don't understand timing, and their inevitable bumps and bruises.

Halfway through, she has to throw her hoodie to the corner, letting it sweep over the floor. Thinking about Priyanka, still, when she's trying to work, _again_ , is messing with her mind and she can't deal with it. Priyanka wore this hoodie. Priyanka washed this hoodie. It smells like Priyanka's laundry and at the collar there's the tiniest hint of Priyanka's perfume and Priyanka was in Lemon's _bed_ , and Priyanka's everywhere but she isn't here and Lemon has to toss the reminder of her away because if she doesn't then Priyanka will saturate her brain and she _can't_ fucking deal with it, not today, not ever, _oh my_ _god_.

She can't mess up today.

Widow, who used to teach Lemon dance, is here. _Jan's_ here. Brooke's depending on her.

(Priyanka's too good to desecrate.)

* * *

lu: we're using brookes room the big one see u in a bit

jan 👯: i’ve got a special visitors lanyard lol ur schools wild

lu: my lanyards sexy its got lemons on

jan 👯: self obsessed whore

lu: you love me <3

* * *

Carting twenty-six children from New York City throughout your workplace is not an enjoyable experience, Lemon learns almost immediately.

 _It's good for the kids,_ Lemon has to keep telling herself. But _god_ are these kids annoying.

(At least they can dance — Widow may encourage a type of chaos that makes Brooke's skin crawl, but they dance like Lemon's never seen kids dance before, and it's far too impressive to render them anything but awe-struck.)

Lemon and Brooke lead the tour, Jan and Widow taking up the back to watch for stragglers, and every time a kid shouts or stumbles or shoves another, Brooke bristles and Lemon shoots a look to Jan. Jan, each time, smiles back, as if oblivious.

It's bliss when they get to room four and the kids sit down and _listen_ , at last.

Brooke leads the first workshop, and Lemon isn’t there but she knows that Brooke is (only slightly) furious at Lemon for having a regular class at the same time — ‘ _you’re_ the teaching assistant, you should be doing the boring stuff’ — and the thought of Brooke threatening to explode any minute carries her through an otherwise exceptionally boring period spent perfecting posture. (Jan tells her about it later, and even though Lemon suspects she exaggerates as Jan does, the tales of Brooke’s tension are far better than what she imagined.)

She knows Brooke is going to do a lot of ballet lessons with the New York girls through the next week, it being a discipline that neither Widow nor Jan are particularly knowledgeable in. It’ll add a ton of value to the trip. And that’s Lemon’s concern. Lemon, even amongst friends, worries that her contribution is the group’s Achilles heel — really, she adds nothing unique to the table: Brooke has her field, ballet; Jan is a versatile musical theatre girl; and Lemon does what Widow does, but Widow does it better _and_ she’s more qualified. Lemon’s meant to be teaching some basic ballroom stuff (Viennese waltz, her favourite; samba, which she grew up with and actually sparked her enthusiasm in dance; and the foxtrot, which she’s dreadful at but Brooke really wanted her to have three modules so she’d taken a few night classes to brush up) but it still isn’t Lemon’s thing like ballet is Brooke’s or jazz-influenced jams are Jan’s, and she can’t help but let it eat at her.

And then, suddenly, it’s the end of the day and she’s finished giving her _Lemon’s Introductory Guide To Beats Per Minute And Other Boring Stuff That Miss Hytes Wanted Me To Talk About_ lesson and Widow is congratulating her whilst walking with Lemon and Jan to the exit to leave for a hotel with their swarm of students following suit, and Lemon walks home with her phone buzzing in her bag.

* * *

pri 💌: hey

pri 💌: i didn't see you today???

pri 💌: if you're embarrassed about the voicemail please don't be

pri 💌: i'm actually glad you sent it to me instead of sprinky(?)

pri 💌: if someone was gonna ask me out (lol i wish) i'd rather it be sober and in person and real y'know

pri 💌: but this way you can tell him properly

pri 💌: and if you tell him this story i'll bet he'll agree with me :)

pri 💌: virtual romance just isn't the same

pri 💌: anyway i totally don't mind i just hope you're okay!

pri 💌: and thank you again for friday/saturday

pri 💌: see you tomorrow hopefully

pri 💌: 💕

* * *

Lemon sighs, relief and regret and frustration mingling in her exhale.

_Sprinky’s you, you dumb bitch._


End file.
